The Stolen Sisters: from the bestselling author of The Date and The Sister comes one of the most thrilling, terrifying and shocking psychological thrillers of 2020

by Louise Jensen

  The smell.

  The sound.

  The knowing they were there but unable to see them in the blackness.

  Now I can see, in the light, bright cloakroom. The tray has slipped from my fingertips. The beetles scurry over the shoes that I will feel compelled to throw away.

  ‘Leah!’ George pulls me away, back into the classroom as Rebecca runs towards us.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asks, a worried look on her face as her eyes flicker between me and George. I don’t answer.

  I can’t.

  My body is here but my mind is back in Norwood. Back in the place that was worse than the room we were first held captive in. The place with scratching rats and glowing eyes. My vision tunnels until all I can see is a pinprick of light, and then nothing.

  ‘I am so sorry.’ Rebecca can’t stop apologizing. We are in the staffroom. She offers me a glass of water. I shake my head. I can’t hold it in my hand that still shakes violently and anyway, I wouldn’t be able to drink from the glass. ‘It’s the damp. We’ve had a problem with insects coming in now the weather’s turned. There’s a small hole they scurry through. Someone’s coming out next week to have a look.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ George assures her again.

  ‘Sometimes the children hide their snacks in their trays too. It doesn’t help…’ She looks mortified.

  ‘Honestly, don’t worry. Leah, are you okay to stand?’

  I’m not sure of the answer but still I nod.

  George helps me out to the car.

  He pulls out of the car park and I shrink in my seat. Night has drawn in and every approaching car looks black. We don’t talk, the Nineties radio show a low drone.

  Steps begin to sing ‘5, 6, 7, 8’. I wrap my cardigan tighter, convinced it’s a sign that I’m right. That he’s somehow been to Archie’s nursery and planted those filthy beetles in my baby’s tray. I should have asked if there were any visits from the maintenance men today.

  We’re almost home. The engine thrums as we wait at the traffic lights by the newsagent’s. There’s a man in dark clothing and it isn’t until he lights a cigarette that I see his face.

  ‘Stop!’ I shout just as the light has turned amber and George has accelerated. He slams the brakes on. I rock forwards, the seat belt slicing into my chest.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ George asks.

  I twist my head around. There is nobody there but I know what I saw.

  I know what I think I saw.

  ‘Did you really see him?’ Francesca would ask but it’s feasible I have, isn’t it? He’s out there somewhere. It isn’t the Fregoli, I know it. But I’ve been certain before and I was wrong then.

  I am the boy who cried wolf. Nobody will believe me until it’s too late.

  ‘Nothing,’ I mutter. George tuts.

  The second we step through the front door, I am taking the stairs, two at a time, desperate to know that Archie is here. That he is safe. He’s sleeping. Hair sticking up at angles, arm draped over his cuddly lion. I kiss my index finger and press it against his forehead.

  By the time I come downstairs, Tash has gone.

  ‘She didn’t say goodbye? Did she seem all right?’

  ‘Yes, just tired. We didn’t know how long you’d be upstairs. I’m going to catch up on some work.’

  I have showered and scrubbed my skin until it is raw and bundled the clothes I’d worn this evening into the machine and put them on a hot wash. In the black bin outside I stuff my shoes. I’m making coffee when my phone beeps an unknown number. I warily open the text.

  You look nice in that red skirt.

  It’s as though I have been punched. I double over the sink, phone clutched in my hand.

  He is watching me. Was he loitering outside the nursery, watching my reaction through the window as I pulled open Archie’s drawer?

  Immediately I think I must call the police. They can’t dispute this new evidence, here in black and white, but then I read the text again.

  You look nice.

  A compliment, they will say.

  Nothing threatening. No crime has been committed.

  But I can feel in my gut there’s only a matter of time until one is.

  He is clever, this I know from before.

  I have to be smarter.

  Chapter Thirty

  Carly

  Then

  The second Carly heard Moustache arrive she dragged the twins across to the pile of rubbish in the centre of the room.

  ‘We have to outsmart them. We have to hide.’

  The girls burrowed into the centre of the pile. Pallets and boxes began to slide. Carly caught them before they could make a sound. Arranging the debris over the twins until there were no visible limbs or red hair or tell-tale pieces of clothing on show, Carly tried to carefully slither on her belly after the girls but instantly a crate dislodged with a clatter.

  Carly held her breath. She heard a shout. Footsteps heading in her direction. Quickly, she lay on the floor, moulding her body around the edge of the pile. She dragged an off-cut of carpet across herself – it stank. She imagined it was crawling with bugs. Her skin and hair began to itch. Real or imagined insects skittered across her skin. Crawled into her ears. Her nostrils. Her mouth. Tiny feet brushed the hairs on her arms. She suppressed a whimper, resisting the urge to scratch. She felt too conspicuous, exposed, in the middle of the room, but she also hoped that was what would prevent them remaining undiscovered.

  Hiding in plain sight.

  Carly tried not to think about anyone tossing a match onto this makeshift bonfire. She tried not to think about the flames dancing around that effigy of Guy Fawkes she and the girls had made last year. She tried not to think of anything except home.

  Safety.

  Warmth.

  She waited.

  Outside, the rain beat against the flat roof. The wind howled through the broken windows. Footsteps slapped against the concrete floor.

  ‘This place is incredible.’ She recognized Doc’s voice. ‘Can you imagine the history—’

  ‘You’ll be fucking history if you don’t find them. I can’t believe you—’

  ‘Yeah, I know. They can’t have gone far though. One of them was really sick.’

  ‘You’d better fucking hope they haven’t.’

  They grew louder. Closer. Through a sliver of a gap where the carpet met the floor Carly could make out boots. A rush of heat swept up her body from her feet to her prickling scalp.

  Please keep still, girls. Please keep still.

  Another step, Doc’s foot brushed against the carpet covering her, dislodging a cloud of dust that tickled her nose. She was going to sneeze. She could feel it building.

  Building.

  Building.

  Filling her nostrils. Her mouth automatically opened.

  Please, no.

  Millimetre by millimetre she raised her hand until she could press her index finger underneath her nose, her heart skittering as the carpet shifted. She prayed no one had noticed. She prayed it wouldn’t slide off her completely.

  The rain drummed.

  Her heart drummed.

  Moustache’s footfall drummed.

  ‘They ain’t here. Let’s check upstairs.’

  Silence, but not relief. The second she could no longer hear them she heard a soft crying but before she could comfort the girls, shush them quiet, she realized it was coming from her. She tried to swallow her tears back down, but she couldn’t.

  To their credit the twins didn’t speak, didn’t move. It took Carly several minutes to compose herself, pushing her fingertips hard against her eyelids. Breathing deeply through a nose that was clogged with snot and dust.

  ‘Are you both okay?’ she eventually managed to whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ Leah’s reply was small.

  ‘Marie?’

  ‘I feel really sick again.’

  Carly wasn’t surprised, even she fell ill with the stench of damp and urine and soot.r />
  ‘Try to be still for a little while longer and when we’re sure they’ve gone, I’ll get you out.’

  ‘My legs want to move,’ Leah said.

  ‘Imagine they are,’ whispered Carly. ‘Imagine we’re singing along to Steps and dancing. Close your eyes and hear the music. Feel your feet move. We’re at home safe, in the kitchen. Ready? 5, 6, 7, 8.’

  In Carly’s mind the girls moved in unison, lips synching along with the lyrics, feet instinctively knowing which way to turn. It was comforting to know that Leah and Marie were playing the same scene inside their heads, as though they were all watching the same movie. It was odd but, although they were pinned in place under a pyre, Carly felt a strange sense of freedom.

  It was the pins and needles that finally forced Carly to move. Slowly she peeled back the carpet, eyes darting around the room. She couldn’t see the men.

  She couldn’t hear them.

  But that didn’t mean they weren’t close.

  She had never felt so scared. Was she just making it worse for them all if they were caught? Would they be tied up again? Gagged. Blindfolded. No longer able to see the horrors but imagining them instead. The worst things happened in darkness. That was where nightmares raged and demons loomed.

  Enough. Carly focused on the now. She just wouldn’t allow them to be captured again.

  ‘I’m going to get you out now, but be quiet.’ Carly lifted slats of wood and carefully placed them on the ground, removing a large piece of damp cardboard that fell to pieces in her hands. She reached for Leah, knowing she was more scared than both of them, but Leah shook her head. ‘Get Marie away from the germs first.’

  Marie’s skin was tinged green, the whites of her eyes streaked pink. As soon as Carly helped her out she sank to the ground as though standing was too much effort. Leah was next, still clutching the teddy bear, its red jumper now streaked with white dust.

  ‘Do you want to cuddle teddy, Marie?’ she whispered to her twin. ‘He’s very brave.’

  Marie shook her head.

  ‘We’re going to get out of here,’ Carly promised. ‘We’ll run as fast as we can and—’

  ‘I don’t think Marie can run very fast right now.’ Leah had her arm draped around her twin’s shoulder. ‘If you want I… I could go. I’m quick and…’ Fear sparked in Leah’s eyes and she swallowed hard. ‘I could find help. I could try anyway. Couldn’t we, teddy?’ She raised the bear, pressing him against her heart.

  Carly deliberated. Should one of them go for help? She glanced out of the open window. The sky outside was definitely fading and not just because it was storm grey either. Night was beginning to draw in. She’d be the obvious choice. Faster. Calmer. But how could she leave her sisters?

  ‘Thanks, Leah, but we’ll stick together. It’ll be dark soon and we won’t have to worry about moving so fast. They won’t be able to see us.’

  ‘But we won’t be able to see where we’re going,’ Leah said logically.

  ‘No, but we’ll have the moon to guide us. It’ll be fine, I promise.’ But the lie tasted as sour on her tongue as the urine and the stale vomit tanging the air. ‘Let’s go and sit in the corner. We’ll hear them if they come back in and we can hide again.’

  They huddled against the wall and played ‘I spy’ to pass the time. Nerves bit at Carly’s stomach. They’d almost covered every object in the room when Carly became stuck on Leah’s ‘something beginning with S.’

  ‘Sick.’ Marie pointed to the front of her shirt.

  ‘Nope,’ said Leah.

  ‘I give up,’ Carly said.

  ‘If you do you’re the loser.’ Leah made an L shape on her forehead.

  ‘What was it?’ asked Carly.

  ‘It was chandelier.’

  ‘That begins with a C,’ Marie said.

  ‘Doesn’t.’

  ‘Does too. It’s a ch like chef.’

  ‘Don’t believe you. It’s my turn again.’

  ‘It’s no one’s turn,’ Carly said. It was too gloomy to see. ‘It’s time to leave.’

  The girls hands instinctively sought out each other’s. They crossed the room, retracing their steps to the entrance. They stood in the open doorway, rain pelting against them. It was blacker than Carly had thought, the moon barely visible behind the clouds.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked but it didn’t matter whether they were or not.

  They didn’t have a choice but to step out into the unknown.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Leah

  Now

  George and I glare at each other. He wants Archie to go on the nursery trip as planned and I am adamant he can’t.

  ‘Please, Mummy. Please.’

  ‘Leah,’ George’s voice a warning.

  ‘No.’ I turn away so he can’t see my tears. The one-day letter crinkles in my dressing-gown pocket. I haven’t even opened it.

  ‘You can’t stop him going because of… last night.’ George’s voice drips exasperation. He thinks it’s the beetles that are stopping me taking Archie to nursery, when in fact it is the man who had put them there.

  ‘But I want to go, Mummy.’ Archie slams his beaker on the table. ‘We’re going on a minibus and I wanted cheese dippers for my packed lunch.’ The proposed outing to the nature reserve to gather things for an autumn table has been the source of much excitement.

  ‘You could go on the trip with him?’ I offer George a compromise. I don’t want to let Archie out of my sight but I know how disappointed he is. The outing had originally been diarised for a couple of Fridays ago but due to staff illness had been rescheduled for today. I’d hoped that, now it was taking place on a weekend, George would be free.

  ‘I’ve got to work.’

  ‘It’s Saturday,’ I hiss.

  ‘All the more reason for Archie to get out and have some fun.’

  ‘One more day,’ I say to George. ‘Why can’t you give me one more day and then it will all be over…’

  ‘Until next time,’ he snaps. ‘I have to know you’re capable of looking after Archie, Leah—’

  ‘How dare you even insinuate I’m not!’

  ‘But we can trust Rebecca to look after Archie.’ The connotation is that he does not trust me. Years of dealing with the anniversary, tiptoeing around my triggers and the horrors of the past has taken its toll on George. It has taken its toll on us. He’s right although I am loath to admit it. Even after tomorrow it won’t be over. It will never be over.

  ‘Please, Mummy, please, Mummy, please Mummy.’

  ‘No!’ I shout and Archie bursts into tears. ‘I’m sorry.’ I rush over to him and wrap him in my arms.

  ‘If Mummy won’t let you go on your trip’ – George doesn’t say can’t and in this moment I feel as resentful of his lack of understanding as he is of my foibles – ‘then perhaps she’ll take you to the park and you can gather some things to take in on Monday.’

  ‘Yes! Park. Park. Park.’ Archie’s tears instantly dry.

  ‘Please come?’ I ask George.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve really got to go to this meeting. Can you manage, Leah?’

  Power of attorney. Diminished mental capacity.

  ‘Yes.’

  As soon as George has left I call Carly to ask if she can come with me but I can barely hear her. Her voice almost gone. On a whim I ring Tash to see if she fancies a walk but she tells me she has an emergency dentist’s appointment for a throbbing tooth.

  I am on my own.

  ‘Mummy, too fast!’ Archie tries to wriggle his hand free of mine but I hold on tightly as we march past the newsagent’s where I had seen him last night on the way home from parents’ evening. As the road widens I begin to feel a little safer. There’s more traffic. Pedestrians stare at their mobile phones as they somehow weave around each other. There are several dog walkers, leads gripped in hands.

  The park is busy. There’s a pang of nostalgia as I eye the baby swings. Remember lifting Archie who stretched his pudgy arms towards me.
Gently patting his bottom to see how full his nappy was. Now he tries to run towards the play equipment. I pull him back.

  ‘We’re here for the nature table, remember?’

  ‘Just a little, tiny go on the slide.’ He presses his thumb and index finger together before opening them a fraction. ‘One small go?’ he asks forlornly.

  ‘One,’ I say. Although I feel unsettled here, I felt equally unsettled at home. At least now there’s safety in numbers, I think, as I glance around at the other mums. Archie thunders up the steps, no careful climbing for him although he does at least hold the handrail. He whizzes down and the joy on his face breaks through my agitation.

  ‘Go on,’ I say before he can ask for another go. After the slide it’s the roundabout. The climbing frame. It’s here he falters, not yet brave enough to climb higher than five rungs, not appreciating that the slide he loves is even taller. ‘Shall we go find some leaves and stuff?’ I ask.

  ‘What stuff shall we find?’ He slips his hand into mine, tired now. I’m glad I let him run off some of his energy in the playground.

  ‘Treasure?’

  ‘Pirates?’

  ‘Parrots?’

  We play our word association game while Archie gathers leaves, twigs, stones and pine cones. He heaps them into my hand. I should have brought a bag to put them in, my jacket doesn’t have pockets and they’ll get crushed in my jeans. I glance around. There’s an old lady to my left, waiting while her dog cocks his leg up a tree.

  ‘I’m going to ask that lady if she’ll let us have some poo bags,’ I say. Archie doubles over in laughter.

  ‘Poo! For poo! We’re having a poo!’

  ‘Shh.’ The lady is watching us now. I cross over to her and explain what I need and why. She holds open a bag while I tip Archie’s discoveries inside and then she gives me another.

  ‘Archie.’ I turn, pleased that we have a spare bag to fill. ‘Archie?’

  There’s a sick feeling in my stomach as I scan the spot Archie was standing in. It’s empty.

  ‘Archie!’ I shout but there is no ‘Mummy’ to let me know he is nearby. There are no footsteps.

  ‘Archie!’ I scream again.

  Three steps away. I was only three steps away, but in the brief seconds I was talking to the lady he has vanished.